


No Relief

by puszysty



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-18
Updated: 2009-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puszysty/pseuds/puszysty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Relief

Felix lay in his bed, staring woefully at the ceiling. He was going home in a week. Not because his tour of duty was up, he still had another seven months left of that, but because his leg had been blown off. It was too common a sight these days to see soldiers with limbs blown off, due to all the trip wires and landmines out here. Felix almost wishes that had been what had happened to him. Almost. It'd be easier that way. No, Felix had actually had his leg blown off by friendly fire, shot by the man in the very bed next to him.

Samuel Thomas Anderson sits upright in his bed, strumming a guitar that wasn't there. It was sickening, Felix thought, how the man looked so upbeat. "Hey Slater," Anderson says, not looking up from his imaginary guitar, "how's the leg?" Felix flips him the bird. "I hear the VAs ain't bad. Better than the field hospital anyway." Felix didn't doubt that much. Anything was better than the field hospital. The medical attention was greater, the food was sure to be better than MREs, and most of all, you couldn't hear bombs going off in the VA.

Anderson starts humming. Felix wants the bastard to just shut up already, but knowing Sam, that wasn't likely. At times like this, ignoring him would only make it worse. "What's that you're playing, Anderson?" Felix asks.

"Just a little Hendrix." Sam hums a little more, nodding his head to the beat inside it. Then he starts singing. "There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief."

"You calling me a thief?" Felix asks, probably only half joking.

"Hey man, don't disrespect the genius of Hendrix," Anderson says, pointing an accusing finger at Felix.

"You know that's a remake right? If it's anyone's genius you should be praising, it ought to be Dylan's."

"Well, you like all that classical Mozart shit, so what do you know." Anderson waives him off and goes back to strumming his imaginary guitar.

He should probably hate Sam for what had happened, but he couldn't bring himself to. He wasn't even angry. It was hard to hate a man who was as fucked in the head as Sam was.

Samuel Anderson had been a small-time ball player before Nam, pitching for a triple A team in Indianapolis, Indiana. Felix had never been to Indianapolis, but knowing what he knew about Indiana, there was probably nothing but corn there. Now here he was, not a corn stalk in sight, and had the double misfortune of having a half-Asian guy for a lookout buddy. It was always the ones who got paired with the Asian guys who went crazy first. On top of all that, Sam had been one of the ones drafted to be here. Felix had actually signed up for this shit.

Anderson stops playing. "Hey Felix, listen I'm-"

"Don't," Felix says. Sam had tried a few times before. He didn't want an apology.

"I didn't think you were Charlie, okay?"

"Accidents happen." Anyone else, and Felix would've thought they were lying to make him feel better, but coming from Sam, he knew it was the truth.

Felix massages his knee again. It freaked him out to touch it and not have his shin be there, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. As if the next time he touched it, the leg would be there again. It never was.

"Hey Felix, how you doing kid?" says Doc Koppel as he came over to Felix's bed, medical chart in hand.

"Hey Doc, how's your cousin Ted these days?" Anderson asks, a large grin on his face. Felix wants to slap him. The doctor wasn't actually related to the news reporter, everybody knew that. That joke had gotten old a long time ago.

The doctor isn't amused either. Granted, Doc Koppel always seemed to have a scowl on his face. Koppel glances quickly at Anderson in one of those "shut up if you know what's good for you" gestures, then turns his attention back to Felix. "Don't know how much more morphine I can give you, not until the new shipment arrives. But Uncle Sam's sending you home in a week, you should be thankful for that. They can at least get you something to walk around on."

"Yeah. Great." Felix really didn't want to go home. Which was sardonic, because he sure as hell didn't want to stay here, in Nam, amongst the bombs and the booby traps and the blood. Home just didn't feel right. He didn't even remember what home was like. Not that would be the same anyway.

 

Felix had enlisted in the marines two years ago as a patriot. Felix had always wanted to be a marine. His father had been a marine in the European theater during World War II, his grandfather a marine in World War I. His childhood had been spent listening to stories of their years in the service, their deeds of heroism and the honor they brought to their country. Glorious recollections of battle had been Felix's bedtime stories.

He entered boot camp a proud young soldier, determined that he would bring glory and honor to his country just like his father and grandfather had. He believed that his country was fighting on the side of good, its enemies as clear-cut as the Nazis, and nothing was more important than clearing the world of the evil of Communism.

It took one encounter on Vietnamese soil to make him question that, and not many more to cure him of it.

 

On the nights they spent on watch in the muck, Samuel Thomas Anderson loved to talk about baseball. No one could describe a simple throw in as much detail as Sam. He'd gone on and on about the intricacies of different plays, records against his rival teams, players he admired in the big leagues, and had even started referring to their unit as the Indians and Charlie as the Mud Hens. Felix didn't care much for baseball, or sports in general really, but he never spoke a word of it to Sam. Baseball kept Sam sane. There wasn't much to keep a man sane out here. He'd seen soldiers fixate on stranger things. But you had to let them have it. It was often those guys you ran to when things started falling apart.

And that was why Felix could never hate Sam. Sam wasn't sane anymore. Sam looked alright from a distance, happy to anyone who encountered him briefly. But in actuality, Sam had slipped inside himself. Samuel Thomas Anderson no longer existed in the real world.

Felix couldn't say for sure when Sam had disconnected from reality. _She_ had been a big part of it, sure, but she wasn't the sole cause. If anything, it had been a gradual process. Sam had started to talk less and less about baseball and more and more about what he would do when he got back home. That was always a bad sign. But the transition had been so slow that no one had noticed it, and Felix didn't even realize that Sam was gone until they laid together in the field hospital. No single event had made Sam snap. Not like it did Felix, who'd thought he'd been here to defeat enemy forces and one day found himself instead killing children.

 

One month later, Felix is at his bed in the VA, adjusting his prosthetic for the third time in the last ten minutes, trying to find the most comfortable position for it. It doesn't feel right no matter how he sets it. There's a baseball game on tv. Felix thinks briefly of Sam. He wonders what happened to him after they'd sent Felix home, if he's still alive over there. Then Felix realizes, he doesn't want to know.

Felix's nurse enters the room, to help him settle into his prosthetic and take him to physical therapy. "Hey Felix, how are you doing today?" she asks. Felix smiles at her, the most genuine smile he's able to muster these days.

Her name is Louisa, a real southern belle, from somwhere in Alabama. Felix wasn't sure why she'd joined the medical corps. He never asked her, but she never asked him about what happened in Vietnam, and it was an arrangement that worked for the both of them. She came in every day to dress his wounds, make sure he ate, give him pain medication when he needed it, and to take his mind off his missing leg. She liked to slip him little extras every now and then, some french fries from the local McDonald's or an extra ibuprofen when his leg bothered him. He loved her, in the way many injured soldiers came to love their nurses. She loved him too, though in a way that meant marriage and babies. Felix wasn't sure he was ready for that. But Louisa was all he had anymore, so he didn't want to let go.

His cousin Dee had been to visit him a couple times. She brought him little mementos from home that Felix only displayed when Dee was around. He knew she meant well by it, but his old life was long gone and he didn't want to remember it anymore. It was better to try and make the best of this one. Dee wanted Felix to come home as soon as possible. Her insistence on a speedy recovery led her to assist him on walks through the hospital, helping him get used to his new leg, stopping when the pain got to be too much. He appreciated it, but at the same time wished she would leave him alone. He wanted the pain gone, wanted to be able to walk again, but he wasn't ready to be the old Felix that Dee wanted him to be. Didn't know that he ever could be. He suspected Dee knew that, but wasn't ready to accept it. He could see the hurt in her eyes, even when she told him she'd always be there.

The last time she'd been here, she had her husband with her. It was the first time Felix had met him, since the two had met while he was still in Nam, though it wasn't much of an introduction. His name was Leland Adams; he was a salesman or an adman or something like that. His father was CEO of the company he worked for, and Leland was clearly trying to live up to his father's image, no matter how much he insisted he wasn't. Dee had made that clear in the letters she'd written Felix.

Leland had somehow managed to avoid the service, or perhaps had someone to bail him out of it. Felix knew he didn't like him from the moment he stepped in the room. Leland kept his distance, and spoke to Felix of how great the United States was and what an honor Felix had performed serving his country. But the look in his eyes betrayed a different sentiment. It was a look he'd seen in a lot of the faces that came to the VA. "Hypocrite," Felix's glare said. "Traitor," said Leland's. Felix asked Dee not to come back after that.

His mother had come to visit him once. She'd cried and backed away, unable to bear what had become of her son. She hadn't been back. No one else came to visit him. His friends in the area all either hated anyone who'd signed up for Nam or were six feet under ground. Aside from Louisa, Felix was really alone.

It helped, maybe a little, knowing that Sam was probably alone too. Sam had a girl, sort of, over there in Nam. She was a local who helped the troops by providing information on the whereabouts of enemy factions. How she knew where to find them, no one had any idea, but she was usually right. No one really knew what to make of her, including Felix. Sam trusted her though, probably too much. It happened sometimes, to guys over there. That's how Felix had lost his leg. Felix swore that she was finally leading them into a trap, like the local aides sometimes did. After an incident involving what had looked like a peaceful village, Felix didn't trust any of the locals anymore. But Sam had sworn that she was different, there was an altercation, and the next thing Felix remembered, he was lying in a field hospital with only one leg, and Sam weeping in the bed next to him. Neither one of them ever found out if it was really a trap or not, but he was sure the unit never trusted the girl again after that. Sam, more than likely, included.

On second thought, it was probably better not to think about Sam.

 

After being released from the VA, Felix had gone to live with Louisa in her small apartment on the east side of town. It was really the only place he'd had to go. Louisa had been happy enough to have him there, and spent her time making sure he was comfortable. If nothing else, it made her feel better.

Felix lay awake in the bed. He couldn't sleep tonight. Louisa was curled up next to him, her arms wrapped protectively around Felix, but it didn't bring him the comfort it usually did. He'd been out today, needed some milk from the store while Louisa was at work. He'd seen the eyes following him as he walked down the street, crutches in hand. He wasn't adept enough on his new leg yet to walk without them. It wouldn't have mattered though, the word 'soldier' was written all over him. He expected it by now, the people on the street avoiding him like he was some kind of disease. Even the clerk at the store couldn't really meet his eye. Felix expected it, but he didn'think he'd ever get used to it.

He'd passed on a man on the street on his way back, some hippie playing "All Along the Watchtower" on a six-string guitar. Felix wanted to spit at his feet. That man had no idea. But Felix thought better of it. Now wasn't the right time.

Felix awakes early the next morning, his mind still on the man with the guitar, packs his things, and explains to Louisa that he can't stay. Tears run down her cheeks as he tells her goodbye. Then he walks out the door, not knowing if he'll ever see her again.

 

Felix boards the bus to the same stares he gets all the time now. As the bus begins to pull out, a man sits next to him and introduces himself as Tom. Tom's got on a jean jacket covered in peace signs and doves, but Felix can tell he's also got a side-arm hidden under the jacket. It's an interesting statement.

"You're one of the ones who got sent over there, huh?" Tom says. "Unfair, what they do to you boys. Stealing away the youth of America without ever giving them a chance." Felix had never thought of it that way before, the military doing this to him. He'd always thought he'd done it to himself. Felix doesn't tell Tom he wasn't drafted.

"We gotta put it right, you know? Give the people a voice. Stop forcing people into war, let them decide for themselves. That's what America's supposed to be about. That's what democracy really means. Nixon's forgotten that!"

Felix simply nods and says, "The world is upside down."

"The world is upside down, man, I'm gonna have to use that. Yes it is, man, yes it is." Tom smiles and nods his head a few times. Felix can see the wheels turning. The world really is upside down, though probably not in the same way for both them.

Felix thinks about sleeping, but the memories of Sam smiling, strumming his imaginary guitar and Louisa's pleading tears prevent him from getting any rest. He decides to talk to Tom. Felix doesn't care about the man, probably never will, but he's there, and he's not staring. "Where you headed?"

"Ohio," replies Tom. "Word of a big protest stirring up there, and I'm going to be a part of it. Doing what I can to be heard."

"You think it's making any difference?" Felix asks. From where he sits, he doesn't think so. But he wonders what the man next to him thinks, if it's still possible to believe in your country when you haven't been over there.

"They have to listen eventually." Felix nods, the wishful thinking in that statement hard to miss. "How about you, where you headed?"

"Indianapolis," says Felix.

"What brings you there?" Tom looks like he's expecting some exciting answer.

"Going to see a baseball game."

"A baseball game?" Tom looks taken aback. "I didn't even know they had a baseball team in Indianapolis."

"Minor league," says Felix.

"What on earth are you traveling across the country to see a minor league baseball game for?" Tom asks incredulously.

"It's…a favor for a friend," Felix tells him. He's not quite sure that's what it is, but that's the best way to explain it to anyone else. Only Sam would really understand.

"Oh," says Tom, a look of pity washing over his face. "I'm sorry." Felix doesn't have the heart to tell him Sam's not dead. At least, not that he knows.

Tom slinks back in his seat, knowing that he's crossed a line he shouldn't have, closes his eyes, and falls into a light sleep. Felix gazes out the window and watches the fields go by.

 

Felix sits in the stands, crutches leaned against the empty seat next to him. _All_ the seats next to him are empty. Hardly anyone is here to see this game, the Indianapolis Indians versus the Toledo Mud Hens. The pitcher throws. Curve ball, 68 miles per hour, Felix determines, from all he's learned from Sam. It hits the catcher's mitt with a crack.

Someone passes by him on the stairs with a hot dog and a box of cracker jacks. "How come nobody's here?" Felix asks the man.

"Nobody interested in minor league ball anymore," he shrugs. "All the best players are over in Nam, and so are a lot of the fans. The ones who aren't, hell, they got bigger things to worry about than baseball." The man takes a bite of his hot dog and continues down the stairs.

Fast ball, 84 miles per hour. Felix looks around at the deserted stands. He wonders what Sam would think if he saw this. Wonders what he would do if he knew what had happened to his game. Even the things they had held onto didn't exist anymore.

Curve ball, 62, strike three. Felix realizes he shouldn't be here anymore.

 

"Hey soldier, glad to see you here!" greets Tom, as Felix limps toward the growing crowd. He was only using one crutch now, he'd dropped the other at a VA in Indiana. "How was the game?"

"Not what I thought it would be," says Felix. Tom nods, knowing its got nothing to do with the game itself.

"Well, glad you could make it. Nice of you to come in uniform too, that really makes a statement," Tom beams with pride. Felix had done that on purpose. In all his years as a marine, Felix never thought he'd find himself here, protesting against the very thing he'd been a part of. The protesters had been the enemy to the marines, not the ones they were shooting, but the one the guys in charge feared even more.

Turns out, the protesters had a point. Maybe they didn't see it in the same way Felix did, but it was still the same point in the end. It wasn't that it was wrong to go to war; it was that this particular war was destroying everything he'd believed in. This war wasn't just taking legs, it was taking souls. And though he knew it would never work that way, he wanted his own soul to be the last one it took.

Felix grabbed a sign from someone distributing them, he didn't know what it said, but it said enough, and marched toward the front of the crowd. Tom was there beside him, his voice rising above the hundreds of others. The police were there with billy clubs and cans of mace, determined to hold off the protesters. The crowd grew louder, and Felix found his last bit of strength, dropping his crutch to the ground and hoisting his sign high, chanting "End this war!" with the voices around him. As the crowd pushed forward, the cops grew scared, panicked by the people trying to defy their system. Tear gas floated into the crowd, a blast of it catching Felix's eyes and making them sting. Even through the haze, Felix could see as Tom took his oath to speak out one step too far and pulled out the gun from his jacket. The police saw it, and shots were fired. Felix knew he'd been hit when he found himself lying on the ground, but he hadn't felt a thing. The view of the crowd was blurry and his vision fading as someone knelt down to tend to him. "Oh my god! Oh my god!" they screamed. They'd set down a radio they'd apparently been carrying next to Felix's ear.

Felix catches a glimpse, gets the feeling that somehow this has happened before. The last thing he hears as he lies dying are the sounds of Hendrix. "There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief."

And then it stopped.


End file.
